


Tim and Kon, Stuck in a Closet

by ava_jamison



Category: Red Robin (Comic), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Cliche, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Tim/Kon, Closets, caves, and other tight spaces</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tim and Kon, Stuck in a Closet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirax2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirax2/gifts).



The door to the utility closet swung open, framing Superboy in the corridor’s halogens. “You couldn’t pick a bigger space?”

“It’s the perfect strategic location for our mission—”

“There’s not enough room.”

“Two minute warning to security, Kon! Close the door.”

“Move over, bro.”

“I’m as far over as I can get.”

“You’re skinny, though. Scoot over.”

Tim sucked in as much as he could and Kon shoved him a little further into the fuse box.

“Ow, Kon.”

“Chill, Rob. Let me just—hey, I can’t get the door shut.”

No guards’ footsteps yet. “Pull it. And what took you so long?” Tim backed up as far as he could.

“Hero stuff, dude. Wait, can you squeeze up a little?”

“No!”

“Come on.” Kon pushed.

“Ow!”

“Toughen up, Rob.” Kon plastered himself against Tim, his chest to Tim’s back and kneed his butt forward. “There… I think I can just…” he twisted to pull the door shut with a ‘snick’ that plunged the tiny room into darkness.

His breath puffed against Tim’s hair.

Tim squirmed for a little more comfort. “Kon, hero stuff doesn’t make you smell like—”

Kon burped in his ear.

“Gross!” Tim snaked his arm up past a console to wave it in front of his face.

“Sorry, man.”

“Barbecue? You’re late for our mission because you had barbecue and...” Tim wrinkled his nose. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“What? No way, dude! I only had part of one beer. Downed it.”

“Kon.” Tim struggled to cross his arms but couldn’t get his left one from between his side and the wall. “You not only don’t show up for our mission—”

“Hey, right here, Rob.”

“—On time.” Tim’s voice was a loud whisper. “And you’re not even legal.”

“Well I wasn’t going to tell the babe I rescued I wasn’t old enough, Rob!”

“Keep your voice down, Kon.”

“Where’s the guard?”

“Two guards. There’s a window of variance. We may have as much as seventeen minutes.”

“Terrific,” Kon said under his breath before shifting to Superboy’s closest approximation of a whisper. “Hooters. Kitchen fire. Rewards. Amber—appreciative waitress. _Very_ appreciative. Buffalo wings and a mug of beer for the hero.”

Tim twisted his head—he was getting used enough to the dark to see just a little. His temple bumped Superboy’s chin. “Kon—”

“Hey, I ate ‘em really fast, Tim. I just wanted—” Tim felt Kon shrug against him. Then he nudged Tim with his shoulder. “She gave me her phone number, bro.”

The smile he could hear in Kon’s voice was infectious, even though Kon and a Hooter’s waitress was a moderately disastrous idea. “She’s too old for you, Kon.”

“Older babes are hot, Tim. Plus, how do you know how old she is?”

“If she’s allowed to serve beer in this state, she’s over twenty-one, Kon.”

“Oh.” Kon shrugged again. “Well, older chicks are hot, Rob. You know that.” Kon brought his hands up to Tim’s chest. “Especially with really big ti—”

“Kon.” Tim pushed back against him and this time was able to get his arms up and crossed, but now Kon was really pinning him. It was… uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Well, I couldn’t refuse a girl who was all ‘my hero!’” Kon whispered in falsetto.

“Heroes don’t drink, Kon.”

“I think some of them do.”

“Think you could stop breathing on my neck, Superboy?”

“Um, sure, Rob. Maybe if somebody hadn’t picked the smallest closet in the whole lab…”

“It’s the best place to get into Security Area M—after the guards pass. Look, if something like that ever happens again?”

“Like with Amber?”

“Like with beer. You can just tell them that you don’t drink. You don’t have to tell her you’re not old enough.”

“Oh, yeah. Chicks would probably dig that, huh? Good job, Rob. Thanks, man.” He clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Chicks probably go crazy for all that noble shit.”

“Um, yeah.”

“How much longer?”

“Not long. Be patient. Good practice for you.”

“Man, I just hate these places.”

Tim elbowed him. “Closets?”

“Heh. You know I mean labs.”

“Yeah.” Tim checked his watch. Sure enough, the window was closing.

“And not just labs, bro. Cloning labs.”

“Shh, Kon. I think I hear someone coming.” Softer, he added, “I know.”

“I know you know, Rob. I’m glad you do but I hate the labs. Every time it’s like I find out something bad about me—worse, even—hey is our time up? I can’t feel my left arm anymore.”

Tim nudged him. “Right there. And shh. Listen.”

“I hear it.”

Footsteps—two men, right on schedule. Tim gauged their progress—around the west corner, nearing the door. Tried not to catalog and map every nuance of the feel of Superboy pressed up against him, breathing hot breath on his neck. Tried not to save it for later, but…

The footsteps faded away to an echo, then nothing. Tim exhaled the breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Okay, Kon—go time.”

“Yeah, Rob. Hang on.” Kon wriggled, sliding his hand behind himself and the doorknob.

Tim heard it turn partway, but then stop with a click.

“Oh, shit. No way, dude!”

“Maybe you’re just not—”

“No man. It’s stuck. I could break it, though. Easy!”

“Kon, this is a covert operation. _Covert_. Can’t you—”

The knob rattled in Kon’s hand. “Shit!”

“Stop that—just let me—” Tim grimaced as he tried to turn.

“Hey, let me help you, Rob.” Kon grabbed him by the hips and lifted him about two inches and then tried to turn him to face him. “Here you go.” He set him down again and Tim completely ignored the slide of his uniform against Kon’s jeans—ignored that he was now pressed groin to groin against Kon. He could ignore it, now that he’d adopted his ‘most-aggressive-cup-possible’ strategy for missions that included Superboy. In fact, in the five months he’d been using the hardest, strongest guard he could find, he’d never been gladder.

Kon’s eyes, however, were huge. “Geez, Rob. Think you could find a harder cup?”

“Some of us aren’t Super, Kon.”

“I get you need to protect your business, dude. It’s just really digging into me. He shifted, exhaled. “There, maybe that—”

“Let me try the door.” Tim reached past and around Kon and that was Kon’s butt—Kon's _ass_ —and—Tim focused. Reminded himself of the strategies he’d adopted for working with Superboy. Rule Number Two—right after the one about the groin coverage—included a certain amount of… private time before beginning missions that included Superboy. Those two rules plus the third one were going to get him through. He tried the knob.

“It’s locked.”

“Um, yeah dude.”

“How’d you lock it?”

“Dude, I didn’t mean to. Don’t you have lock picks?”

Tim sighed and untangled his hand from around Kon to get to his utility belt.

“Um… “Kon squirmed. “Dude!”

“Sorry, Kon.”

“No, it’s just—” Kon reached down, bare hand brushing Tim’s gauntlet, skated over Tim’s groin—

“Kon!”

“Sorry dude. I just got to adjust my stuff. That cup of yours is really—Had to change the way I was hanging down there, dude.”

Tim breathed, shallow and fast and focused on getting his favorite lock pick out of his belt. Focused on the fact that Kon was his friend and Kon needed that friendship and Tim needed it too and…

“Hey,” Tim said, keeping his voice casual.

“Hey? Do you say hey?”

Tim shrugged, maneuvering his hand and lock pick around the swell of Kon’s perfect glutes. “What did you mean when you said…” He worked the lock pick into the lock by feel, since his face was buried against Kon’s broad shoulder. Didn’t think about how this was almost like being held by Kon. Didn’t think about Kon’s pecs and absolutely did not think about how he could feel the shape and weight of Kon’s dick pressed between the two of them, not hard but really, really big, snug up against his own thigh. He focused on the lock. It was a four tumbler job. The first one clicked over.

Kon heard the sound and Tim could hear the smile in his voice. “Good one, Rob.”

Tim nodded into Kon’s shoulder. “What did you mean about finding out bad stuff?”

“What? Oh—labs. Wait—Tim? My arm's going to sleep.” He pulled it from where it was wedged against the wall and draped it over Tim’s shoulder.

The smell of Kon was overwhelming. His crappy body spray or whatever that Tim had talked to him about twice, even though Kon had not been swayed. The chicks, according to Kon, were into it—he turned the pick and the second tumbler clicked into place.

“Two to go, right?” Kon said under his breath, chest rumbling against Tim’s. “See, I do listen to you sometimes, Rob.”

The third tumbler clicked into place.

Tim willed his fingers steady and ignored the way his senses were filling with Kon: barbecue sauce and Axe and underneath that the pure, deeply masculine scent that was just him, just Kon.

Who, he realized, had never answered his question. The question that sounded like it was bugging him. “The bad?”

“Oh.” Kon’s voice was soft enough that if they hadn’t been smashed together Tim might not have caught it. “I mean—I mean I keep finding out weirder and weirder stuff about me, you know?” Kon’s head drooped forward, until his forehead bumped Tim’s temple. His next words were even softer. “Sometimes I feel like a freak, Rob.”

The final tumbler fell. Tim turned the knob and opened the door an inch; Kon slipped down the door to the floor, Tim with him. A sliver of light fell on Kon, sprawled against the doorframe, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

Tim punched him in the shoulder. “You’re not a freak, Kon. But you do have barbecue sauce—” Tim pointed to the corner of his own mouth. “Right there.”

Kon stuck out his tongue, but licked the wrong side.

“No.” Tim was halfway in Kon’s lap, and he knew he had to stand up. But neither of them were moving yet. Slow and careful and feeling almost shy, lock pick still in hand, he used his thumb to swipe the sauce from the corner of Kon’s mouth. And Kon’s lips moved under his touch, changing from a frown to a smile. “Oops. Sorry.” Tim pulled back, his thumb suddenly wet at the tip, where it had slipped between Kon’s warm lips.

“Thanks, Rob.”

Tim nodded. Felt Kon’s spit drying on his thumb. He stood, gave Kon a hand up. Put away his lock pick. And fought the almost irresistible urge to stick his thumb right into his own mouth.


End file.
